


A Shoulder to Lean On

by Keep_Looning



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America has the case of the feels, Brotherhood, But you'll see why, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Revolutionary War (mentioned), and just wants to sleep, honestly this whole thing is fluff, it's all platonic, let my boy reST, maybe a bit ooc, there is no ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29796135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Looning/pseuds/Keep_Looning
Summary: Taking a trip to a historical site may not have been the best decision on America's end. He was already feeling depressed, why did he feel the need to make it worse by wallowing in his own history? Independence was what he was known for, he didn't need help! He was fine. Great. Totally cool.Yeah, no.America needed help.*******America, in a brief moment of despondency, makes the decision to reach out for help from the last person he thought he wanted to see.This fic is mostly fluff, and completely self-indulgent. Everything's platonic. England is a good older brother despite past mistakes, that is a hill I will die on.
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	A Shoulder to Lean On

The days of a nation were blurred, a mere blink of an eye in many regards. Events happened so rapidly, like a movie on fast forward. Old as almost all nations were, it would be self-destructive to try and remember every little thing about every day, so most nations took their lives weeks, months, sometimes even years at a time. Days passed by quickly, never once slowing down… most of the time. 

Some days weren’t so quick, they moved like a river of syrup, only barely passing by. These days were difficult, the task of rolling out of bed seemingly impossible. And just like bubblegum, these kinds of days stuck in the back of your head for weeks afterwards, the feeling of wrongness refusing to relinquish its grip.

Today was one of _those_ days for America, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why — an economy in the garbage, his own people at each other’s throats, and more pressure than he’d ever remembered having placed on his shoulders. He was finding it hard to laugh, to yell as so many expected him to do. His people, his government, even the world on most days wanted him to be an unwavering force. He could play the role Atlas if needed, but he wondered what would happen if his spine broke in two.

America made it a habit to completely shirk his duties on days such as these, although he was sure he’d get an earful for it later. He felt just a bit guilty, but nobody understood these growing pains. America was, after all, impossibly young in the eyes of the world, physically a teenager.

With a heavy sigh that belonged to someone twice his age, America trudged down a chipped sidewalk. He took great care not to trip on some of the overgrown patches, eyes fixed on his feet the entire time. The sharp smell of gasoline stung his nose, cars buzzing by to his immediate left.

He wasn’t exactly sure why, but today he’d decided to take a trip to Philadelphia. The city was beautiful, even if some of the people held a certain fondness for expletives and a general disdain for mankind. 

“Get the fuck out of the road, you damn lunatic!” 

America waved dismissively, hopping back onto the sidewalk. A car beeped at him, probably the same person that yelled at him. He hadn’t meant to amble into the road, but America was rather distracted at the moment.

His feet carried him through the city, only looking up when someone yelled at him (it happened a lot, America knew he was oblivious). For the most part, America ignored the bustling atmosphere, too busy sulking. He just felt _bad,_ there was no other way to put it. He wanted to talk it out, but his voice felt stuck. Besides that, who would want to listen to him blabber away about feelings even he didn’t understand?

He tried not to think as he walked, but it wasn’t working, and after nearly an hour of walking, America finally glanced up. Then he wished he hadn’t. 

Independence Hall.

America groaned in distress. Of course his feet had carried him here, and completely without his conscious permission! Philadelphia was a greek word, it meant ‘brotherly love.’ It was ironic, really, that this was the exact place America destroyed his brotherly bonds. Maybe that’s why he was here, to wallow over his own history.

Independence Hall was now a national park, a place that people were encouraged to visit. It could be considered the birthplace of his country, where things had spiralled so radically that America was forced into a war he never wanted. He didn’t regret it, but independence had cost him the only real family he’d ever had.

The little building was unimpressive, and especially compared to the towering skyscrapers surrounding. It hardly seemed deserving of its historical significance, its colonial-style architecture lackluster at best. Tourists milled about the plaza, taking pictures and pointing in awe. Back then, America never would have thought that this unassuming, brick building would ever garner this type of attention.

America leaned against a tree, watching the flow of tourists file in and around the building. That feeling of wrongness was still all around him, and some childish desire begged him to reach out and ask for help. He was hesitant, though. He was more than two centuries old, he shouldn’t still feel this way. America was grown, he was sure of his identity. He didn’t need anyone!

So why did he want nothing more than to see England?

“I’m the United States of fucking America, I don’t need him.” he muttered to himself. “I’m not a kid.”

A few tourists shot him strange looks, but America could care less. He pushed himself off the tree so he could move closer to the historic building — simultaneously where his troubles had ended and began. Sure, he was rid of a tyrannical government oppressing his people, but now America was left to fumble blindly on his own. He’d made so many mistakes, was _making_ so many mistakes. There’d been many times where he’d been desperate for guidance from someone older, wiser. But, like a child, he’d simply bury those feelings and barrel into everything headfirst and deal with the consequences later. Alone.

“God, shut up!” America whined, scrubbing harshly at his eyes to snap himself out of this mood. “Every nation in the history of, like, ever was left alone. I’m not special!”

Again, people were looking at him like an asylum patient, and again, America ignored them. He knew he wasn’t a special case, he was simply young and maybe just a little afraid to be left alone. But he’d become a global superpower in his own right, he was grown! But the realization of that didn’t stop him from feeling like a kid. God, he _was_ a kid. Most nations had centuries on him.

America now stood directly in front of Independence Hall, eyes far away as he recalled that dreadful war. The sound of cannons still rang in his ears, the sharp stench of gunpowder and blood just as potent now as it had been hundreds of years ago. And then, England was there, finger on the trigger right in front of him. America had frozen in that moment, staring down the gun held by the closest thing to family he’d ever had. England didn’t shoot, but America had. To this day, England complained about a stiff shoulder, but only a handful of people knew the origin of that injury.

“Liberty or death.” America muttered, burying his face in his hands. He was considered a global superpower, but it felt like he was just a teenager masquerading as an adult. He was independent now, but he was also soul-crushingly lonely and unsure.

He tried to fight the urge, to squash what he knew was true, but America was helpless. He was tired and needed someone to vent to. The only way to ease this pain, to return back to normal, was to see England. Maybe the cause of his suffering could also put an end to it.

* * *

England didn’t have much to do these days besides paperwork. It was dreadfully dull, but it had to be done. There was really no need to impose himself in higher government affairs, not when centuries of experience told him that the easiest way to rule was through delegation. Of course, there were times when somebody who was sufficiently incompetent forced England to step in, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. His main priority now was to maintain healthy foreign relationships (yes, even with France), although he’d done a rather poor job at that lately.

“Nothing to be done about it now.” England mumbled to himself, bringing a cup of tea to his lips. He sipped at the warm drink as he idly scanned the newspaper before him. Another fight had broken out in parliament, but that was hardly new. Other than that, it was the normal gossip, slander, and media bias that was so terribly obvious.

Nothing in particular caught his eye on the front page, so England flipped the paper to check on international affairs. Things in Europe were, as always, on fire, but it’d been that way for a millennium. England had half a mind to toss the paper in the bin, but one of the headlines caught his eye.

“America’s economy in the gutter.” England read aloud, tapping one of his fingers idly on the table. That wasn’t good news. Like it or not, that brat’s economy had profound global effects, and if he wasn’t doing well, then England could expect his own economy to feel it. Besides that, a dip in the economy could cause a nation’s mood or health to decline. America was probably feeling either physically ill or mentally depressed. Perhaps both.

England increased the tempo with which he tapped his finger, now also biting lightly at his lip. Maybe it would be wise to check on him, perhaps a simple phone call to ensure he wasn’t buckling under the pressure. Besides, nobody wanted a sullen America at the next conference. It was unnerving to see him so depressed, and England positively loathed playing the role of distressed parent in public. 

England frowned at the thought. He wasn’t America’s keeper anymore — that role had been forcefully wrested from his grasp a long time ago. America was his own country, he wouldn’t appreciate being fussed over.

The newspaper crinkled harshly in his hands, England having to consciously loosen his grip. He finished his tea, standing to place his cup in the sink. There was a window above the sink, and England chanced a glance outside. He was unsurprised to see rain-laden clouds swirling dismally overhead, the sun nowhere to be seen. Maybe it would clear up as the day wore on, but England wasn’t hopeful.

He might have pondered why God deemed it necessary to curse his lands with such a dreary climate, but a hesitant knock interrupted that train of thought. England furrowed his brow in annoyance. Unexpected company always served to piss him off — his untidy house was hardly suitable to entertain guests right now! Had people no consideration?

With a wordless grumble, England abandoned his post at the kitchen sink and stomped his way to the front door. He waited a moment, thinking the person might just go away, but another knock obliterated that flimsy hope. 

England sighed, opening the door with a light glare. “What do you…” he trailed off, surprised to see who it was. “Oh, America. What are you doing here?”

America smiled behind his blond bangs, almost like he was hiding away. He shrugged, shifting nervously from foot to foot in a scarily silent manner. 

The lack of yelling was perturbing, and England was a bit concerned with how closed off America was acting. Even as a colony, there would scarce be a moment where he stood so motionlessly, where he wouldn’t be shouting about something. Something was wrong. “Hey, are you alright?”

Again, America shrugged. Everything about his countenance was off, something like uncertainty dancing behind his bright, blue eyes. “Sorry to bother you, but can I come in?”

England immediately stepped to the side, unable to even fathom denying America when he was acting so meek. Briefly England thought back to the news headline, the one about America’s suffering economy. Maybe that had something to do with this unusual behavior. 

America ambled slowly into England’s home, shedding his jacket at once. He hung it up on the coat hanger, just as he was taught to do so long ago. While not perfect in terms of proper etiquette, England was still rather proud by these small shows of politeness.

“Would you like some tea?” England offered, already making a move to the kitchen as a proper gentleman should.

America put a hand up. “No, I’m good. Just wanted to talk, I guess.”

Well, that was odd. Usually, America just started talking about whatever was on his mind, but it almost seemed like he was hesitant to speak. England felt something akin to worry settle in the pit of his stomach. “Right. Well, I suppose we can move to the sitting room if you’d like.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” America mumbled, not waiting for permission before disappearing deeper into the house. He knew exactly where to go, this wasn’t the first time he’d dropped in unannounced.

With a sigh, England followed his former charge. Perhaps if America had run in with his characteristic brashness and immaturity, England would have acted a bit stricter, more standoffish. But America just seemed so morose, and despite it all, England missed the familial closeness he used to share with the younger. It’d only been a couple centuries since the brat declared independence, a mere fortnight to someone as old as England.

America had enough common sense to kick off his shoes before curling up on the small sofa, pushing himself into the corner. He wore a simple red t-shirt and faded denim jeans. To England’s eyes, it was overly casual, but that was just the norm to the free-spirited nation. Besides, England wouldn’t dare berate America for anything now that he looked so downright depressed. 

England sat on the opposite side of the couch, his foot bouncing nervously as he tried to decide how to approach the situation delicately. But then again, subtlety never really got through to America (the poor kid was denser than anybody England had ever met), so maybe it was best to be blunt. “What in the world happened to you?”

America wrung his hands in front of him, shrugging noncommittally. “Um, nothing really. I’ve just been thinking.”

“Well, there’s a first.” England said lightheartedly, even if he was still impossibly worried. “I didn’t know you were capable of such a thing.”

America pouted, crossing his arms in a childish huff. “Hey, I can think just fine!”

While England would beg to differ, he didn’t want to derail their conversation too dramatically. Something was wrong, and he was going to find out what. “Right, whatever you say. Now, what’s wrong with you?”

“I already told you, nothing.” America mumbled, but the way he kept his eyes downcast betrayed him. He was miserable, either sick or mentally in the dumps, and it was England’s job to pull him out of it.

“Listen, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.” England said, allowing his tone to sharpen into something unmistakably patronizing. “Now suck it up, and tell me what’s wrong”

America tensed, shoulders scrunched up towards his ears. He hid away behind his bangs, refusing to make eye contact. “It’s, like, really stupid.”

“I expect nothing less from you.” England said with a heavy roll of the eyes. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“You promise you won’t laugh?” America asked, his cheeks dusted a light red.

England nodded solemnly, wondering just what he was getting himself into. “If it’s really so serious, I won’t.”

While still clearly engaging in some sort of internal battle of will, America eventually swallowed whatever lingering doubt he had. He shifted so he was facing England directly, although he kept his eyes downcast. He fidgeted harshly with his fingertips, much of his overconfidence lost to something almost shy. “I’m tired.”

One of England’s eyebrows shot up, the randomness of the statement confusing him. “Take a nap, then.”

America groaned in frustration. He tapped his finger furiously on his knee, it seemed to be a habit he picked up from the elder. He looked visibly irritated with himself, and he tried to clumsily explain. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and, well… I don’t know, it’s like so super dumb, but I think I’m scared to be alone right now, or whatever.”

Well, that didn’t exactly clear things up, but it gave England a starting point. He wasn’t sure what to do with the information, but he did know that something was being asked of him. Unfortunately, he was still pretty much at a loss. “Sorry, but what would you like me to do about it?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem!” America said, removing his glasses to rub tiredly at his eyes. He looked genuinely distressed, but something told England that he wasn’t being completely truthful in his explanation. 

“Right, I don’t believe you.” England said bluntly. “You may be dense, but you always know exactly what you want. So, what is it?”

“I’m being honest, dude, I really don’t know.” America mumbled, wrapping his arms around his middle in a gesture that was decidedly insecure. “I mean, I have a few ideas, but…”

And there it was. England knew America better than most (he did raise him, after all), and it was clear to him now that he wanted something very specific. “I’m not sure how you expect me to read your mind, I think it may be easier for you to just spit it out.”

“Fine.” America huffed. Then, in an action that was completely baffling, he flopped sideways to lay on his side, his head resting in England’s lap. He scrunched his knees up towards his middle, both arms tucked in the pocket between his legs and stomach. 

England’s mouth opened and closed, not a sound escaping his lips. He was utterly gobsmacked at the action, hands hovering awkwardly over the younger. America faced outwards, so England couldn’t see what expression he might be making, but he could feel how tensely the blond was curled up. 

They both sat in silence for a handful of breathless moments, England trying to get a hold on his racing thoughts, while America only grew more rigid. The atmosphere was unbearably tense, and England himself was so terribly awkward in these types of situations. But then, America relaxed. It was imperceptible, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to enjoy the position they were in, but to England, it was extremely telling.

_So that’s what he wants._

With a small smile, England finally placed a delicate hand on America’s shoulder. He felt how he jumped at the action, and then immediately relaxed. It seemed America was indeed tired, just not in the way England originally assumed. “Feeling down?”

America nodded, placing his glasses on the floor so he wouldn’t accidentally crush them. He still wouldn’t actually look at England, but his words were genuine. “I miss not feeling alone.”

“That’s an odd way to phrase it.” England said, slowly bringing his hand up to comb his fingers through the younger’s hair. It was an action he’d done when America was a child and feeling scared, or just unsure. It never failed to calm him, now being no different. 

America leaned into the touch, the last of the tension finally working its way out of his body. He curled up a little tighter, like he was trying to give himself a hug. “Things have been, like, supremely unawesome at my place lately. People want me to be a billion things, but I just want to forget all of it.”

England nodded in understanding, able to relate to the dizzying pressure nations were constantly put under. It didn’t help that America was fairly isolated on his side of the world, but he at least had Canada. Actually, why hadn’t he gone to Canada first? England _used_ to be close to America, but it’d been a long time since they’d actually acted like anything close to family. He looked down, still pulling loose tangles from sandy blond hair, and indulged his curiosity. “I get you want to talk, but why come to me? Your brother’s much closer, right?”

America froze for a moment, idly chewing on his bottom lip as he thought. Eventually, he sighed, saying so lowly it was almost inaudible. “Well, Canada’s great at listening, but he’s not what I need right now.”

“And you’re implying that I am?” England asked, one eyebrow quirking upwards.

America was quiet for a long time, never hinting at what he may have been feeling. At one point he began fiddling with his fingers, and sometimes a frustrated noise would sound from the back of the throat. England sat quietly the entire time, never ceasing in his gentle petting. Finally, after what had to have been ten minutes, America turned onto his back to stare straight up at England. “I went to Philadelphia yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“I was thinking about the war.” 

“Oh.” England didn’t need to ask exactly which war he was referring to, it was more than obvious. In all honesty, that time period had been fraught with war, especially for England. So much had been happening at the time, it was difficult to remember all the specifics. That didn’t mean England forgot how it felt — like his heart had been set aflame and the only thing he could do was burn. England had a brief bout of insanity during that period (the king hadn’t exactly been stable, and things like that affected nations), and he knew he hadn’t been an outstanding example to any of his colonies. But it was still agonizing, even if he knew he deserved the isolation. Deserved the rejection. 

“I’m over it, y’know? I mean, I was really pissed at you at the time, but it’s cool now.” America said, interrupting England’s spiraling thoughts. “But there’s still things I really miss.”

“And what’s that?” England asked, resting his palm on America’s forehead.

America hummed softly contentment, eyes fluttering closed. “Well, I miss not having to be responsible for everything. You were gone a lot, but you protected me from a lot of bullshit.”

“You were my colony.” England said simply, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “That was my job.”

“I know, but I kind of resented you for it.” America said, eyes still closed as he elaborated. “I wanted to be free so bad, but I didn’t understand what that meant. I don’t regret becoming a country, but I miss having someone to rely on. It’s lonely now, I don’t know how you do it.”

England sighed, eyes glazing over in thought. He wondered just how well he projected an aloof loner that was unconcerned with affairs beyond his island that America assumed that he enjoyed this lifestyle. Pretty well, apparently, but it wasn’t reality. “I don’t do anything. Despite all the jokes made at my expense, I really am an outcast around here. My brothers aren’t too fond of me, I don’t get off my damn island long enough to make friends, and the only other person to make the effort to talk to me is that bloody frog.”

America frowned, finally peeling his eyes back open. “What about me? I make an effort to talk to you.”

“I guess you do.” England said with a small smile. “But it would be nice for you to call ahead first.”

“Heh, sorry.” America laughed nervously, suddenly apprehensive again. “I know I just showed up out of the blue, and we’re not really close anymore, but…”

England’s lips quirked downward, not liking to hear that simple truth so openly. He tugged on America’s shoulder, trying to get him to sit up. “Come now, there’s no reason to act so nervous.”

America followed the tug and sat up, cocking his head to the side in confusion. 

Really, the boy acted like England hated his guts. With a scoff, England leaned into the arm of the couch, arms spread as an invitation. It was clear to England now that America wanted a taste of his childhood back, a time where he didn’t have to feel so pressured. England wasn’t the best with these types of things, but he remembered how to appease his colony.

America sat with his mouth slightly agape, like he couldn’t believe what was being offered to him. He seemed to fight with himself, stuck between his intensely independent nature, and a deep desire to lean on someone, to share this horrible burden. In the end, a more childish side won out, and America slumped sideways to rest his head on England’s chest. 

England wrapped his arms around the younger’s shoulders, settling down further when he heard a relieved sigh escape America’s lips. It was odd to be back in this position, not with a young, overzealous colony who marched insolently around like he was grown, but with a much larger, independent country who was still very much a child. But England didn’t care to think much further on the issue, he was simply happy to be needed again. 

“I’m sorry to just show up, but I’m tired.” America said, uncharacteristically meek.

England rolled his eyes. “None of that now, poppet. Take a nap if you’re tired, I won’t be going anywhere.”

America’s breath hitched at the pet name, not having heard it in centuries. “Why are you acting so cool all of a sudden? You’re usually a lot more pissy when I’m around.”

“Well, usually you’re more insufferable when you come to visit.” England grumbled. 

“Rude.”

“It’s true.” England said, just a bit more fondly. He once again tangled his hand in America’s hair. It was wheat-blond, reminding England of his agricultural upbringing. He smiled at the thought, remembering just how small America used to be. “But if I’m being honest, it’s too quiet around here, anyhow.”

America let loose a breathy chuckle, not at all like his typical boisterous laughter. He seemed to be drifting off, yet his voice remained sharp. “And my place could use some more nagging. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I understand how you must have felt way back then.”

“What do you mean?” England asked.

“Like, you were never around.” America said plainly, just an edge of bitterness present. “I used to stay up all night hoping you’d come back, but sometimes you left me for years.”

England felt a lump form in his throat, and he was having a hard time swallowing around it. His hand ceased in its petting, a pit forming in his stomach. This was still a topic that he felt profound guilt for, neglecting his colonies. He hated to admit it, but it wasn’t just America who England failed to properly care for. It was a great source of agony for him to this day.

America looked up in confusion when he felt the hand in his hair halt in its calming motions. Then he saw the look on England’s face. He instantly tried to backtrack. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant! I was just-”

“No, you’re right.” England said, turning his face away. “I could have treated you better, I _should_ have treated you better. Maybe then you wouldn’t have…”

Wouldn’t have what? Declared independence? Left? Or was America’s rebellion inevitable? England didn’t know, and because of his own actions, he never would.

America bit at his bottom lip in what seemed to be a nervous gesture. He still hadn’t pulled away from his place against England, like, despite everything, he still wanted to rely on someone. He drew breath to speak again, his words gentle. “I don’t blame you anymore. What I was going to say was that I understand now. I’m always so damn busy trying to keep my boss and people happy, and the rest of the world expects so much of me, too. All this pressure is totally starting to mess with me, but what else am I supposed to do?”

England nodded slowly, taking in the words. When he himself had held the world in his hands, England could hardly breathe for the amount of pressure he was constantly under. Every move of his was scrutinized, everyone was watching, waiting for him to slip up. And when he did slip up, it was capitalized on — _so_ many wars, almost none of them worth it. But so is the life of a nation, and America was just so young still. Too young, really, to be as massive of an empire as he already was. No wonder he was cracking, even sucking up his pride to seek England for help.

With a heavy sigh, England finally resumed his soothing movements. He pulled many tangles free of America’s hair, smiling faintly when he leaned into the touch. “You carry on.”

America pouted. “That’s it?”

“Well, what did you expect?” England asked, amused. “I may have experience, but I’m not a bloody motivational speaker.”

It didn’t seem like America had a response to that because he didn’t respond. Instead, he sighed and burrowed down a little further. His eyes fluttered closed, and it was clear that he intended to sleep right then and there.

England didn’t mind, and he didn’t attempt to speak again. Maybe America didn’t need wise words, anyhow. Maybe all he needed was an open ear and a shoulder to lean on. England knew he’d messed up in the past, but there was nothing to be done for it now. He could only hope to amend things moving forward, even if it was unlikely that America would seek him out in such a way again. Both of them had far too much pride to actively seek out comfort, or to confide in each other. But right now there seemed to be a truce of a sorts in place, one that England would hold to. 

“Don’t let me sleep too long.” America mumbled, some of his words slurring together in his exhaustion. “M’boss would get pretty mad at me if I missed another meeting.”

“I would never allow someone I raised to act so impolite.” England said, some of his usual sternness returning. “But that’s none of your concern right now. Sleep, it’ll do you some good.”

America hummed in response, and then fell silent. His breathing levelled out, his body slack and heavy. Consequently, England had a bit of difficulty drawing breath given just how much bigger the American was than him, but he’d happily forget his own comfort just to make sure his former colony got some rest.

An hour went by. And then another. And then it was suddenly night, the rest of the afternoon having flown by. Neither of them moved from their position on the couch the entire time, America not so much as twitching in his sleep. A few times, England thought about rousing the American so he could get back in time for a morning full of meetings, but each time England failed to follow through. It was impolite to do so, perhaps, but so was putting the weight of the world on someone so young. 

_To hell with them,_ thought England, his own eyes fluttering closed in the still darkness of his sitting room. Who gave a damn about meetings, anyway? England was willing to take the blame for America’s absence this time. Besides, it’d been England himself who’d been absent for most of America’s childhood. He wouldn’t repeat that mistake, he’d stay this time. 

Resolving himself to keep to that promise, England drifted off himself. But just before he did, he felt a flicker of emotion, just a spark of something he hadn’t felt in far too long. It was the feeling of being needed, of being useful to someone. It was freedom from loneliness, and a deep, warm sensation of brotherhood. But more simply, it was something that he’d longed to feel for many decades, maybe even a century.

It was happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this wasn't too incredibly boring, even though it's mostly dialogue. I'm trying to capture my passion for writing again, I think I'm burned out. This really helped me, so I hope that you found some enjoyment out of it too.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading :)


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